Sweet Dreams
by ShinigamiLovesApples
Summary: Harry knows about magic before he goes to Hogwarts. He knows it is bad and he has to be punished for having it. When Snape finds out about his treatment, he's suddenly thrown into an entirely new world, where he has to find out what he should believe in.
1. Prologue

At Privet Drive, in the Dursley household, there were four people. Vernon, Petunia, Dudley and Harry. Harry was a special child, for he could do magic. One might think that would make him the more popular one, perhaps that it would provide him a happy and fun childhood.

It didn't.

He recalled the first time he was told the weird things he could do was magic. His aunt had sat him down on the couch, while Dudley and Vernon were out doing father-son things.

"Harry, dear, you know how you do some things occasionally, that you cannot control?" Petunia had asked, and Harry had nodded, very interested now, instead of wishing he was out climbing trees.

"It's because you have magic in you, Harry, just like your mother and father had. But that was also what got them killed, as they were trying to hide from one of your kind, you see?" she continued, and Harry tilted his head, not sure he understood.

"Magic? But magic isn't real, is it?" he asked, even more confused when his aunt started laughing, though the laugh didn't seem like she was particularly happy or found his question funny.

"Of course, it is, Harry, where else would you have gotten your scar from? It never really heals, does it? But magic is a bad thing, Harry, it takes lives, it's very bad. Vernon and I talked about it, and we think you should be punished every time you do magic, because we believe it might make the magic go away," Petunia explained, and Harry seemed to crumble a little.

"Will it hurt?" Harry asked, fiddling with his hands. His aunt swatted at them to make him stop. He looked up at her again.

"It will, but Harry, do you want to be punished or be a really bad person?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, the weight both reassuring and pressuring.

"I want to be a good boy, Miss Jones says I am, when I finish my lines quickly," Harry said, smiling.

"Then that's settled, Vernon will be giving you punishments, just keep in mind to tell him whenever you do some of that magic, okay? Now go out and enjoy the weather," and with those words, he had gone out to climb trees.

He had happily forgotten about the talk, until the next time he had used magic. He had fallen and scraped his knee, it hurt a lot, and he just wanted it to go away. When he blew on it to ease the pain, it closed right before his eyes.

At first, he had felt elevated. He had healed himself! Magic was amazing, it could help people. But then he remembered that it had also killed his parents, and that magic was still within him. He wasn't sure he felt bad about what he had done, but he also didn't want to be a bad boy.

All through dinner that evening, he had been very quiet. His aunt had noticed how he kept playing with his food, and it was obvious she was growing tired of his restlessness.

"If you aren't going to eat, Harry, then you may leave the table," she finally snapped, and he let down his fork, focusing his gaze onto his lap, mumbling that he had used magic earlier.

"I can't hear what you say if you don't talk to me clearly. Speak up," she reprimanded him, and with a sigh he lifted his head, as he spoke clearly.

"I used magic earlier today, to heal my knee," he stated. Everybody stopped eating, Dudley looking quite interested, while Vernon seemed furious. Petunia looked somewhat happy, but there was something behind her smile that Harry didn't like.

"Oh, Harry dear, I'm so glad you told me. You know we have to try and get it out, so it doesn't happen again, you remember that, right?" she asked kindly, as she reached for his small hands. Somehow her grip felt clammy instead of comforting.

"Yes, but, auntie, I used it to heal? Isn't that a good thing? It didn't hurt anybody," Harry questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I have a name, Harry, please use it. But, do you think the madman who killed your parents wasn't once a child too? He was just like you, using magic before he could control it, and see where that lead him, you don't want to become bad do you?" she inquired, and Harry quickly shook his head.

"I want to be good au- Petunia. That will make you happy, right?" he asked excitedly, wanting the same affectionate smile as she gave to Dudley. She did smile, and though it wasn't as big as when she smiled at Dudley, it made Harry feel happy.

"It will make us all very happy, Harry, can you do this for us?"

He didn't think, before he happily agreed, thinking he finally would fit in with them. Perhaps they could all go on family trips now, he knew Dudley loved those, but Dudley said Harry would probably be bored if he tagged along, so he should be glad he wasn't forced to come with them.

And that was how he found himself over Vernon's knee later that night, his bum so sore he could not sit properly for the next few days.

Next time he was still reluctant to give up the information that he had used magic, but the smile Petunia had smiled at him had made ensured him, that it was indeed the right thing to do.

Harry never thought it would surpass a simple spanking, yet it seemed like it got worse with time. At first it had been spankings, at least until he turned 9 and he fit too awkwardly across Vernon's lap, without him lying somewhat on the couch, and Vernon hated when he was on the couch.

That was when he started to feel a fist against his back or arms, kicks against his ribs when he fell. Once by mistake Vernon struck him across his face, but when the blue eye disappeared the day after, his face was no longer safe.

It hurt, but Harry hid it well. Petunia said it was for his safety, for all of their safety. And he wanted them to be safe and happy. Vernon never really seemed happy, but Harry didn't comment on that. If anything, he seemed to grow angrier every beating, as if he was frustrated the magic didn't just leave.

Harry was frustrated too. He wanted to be a good and normal boy. He hated that he was so sinful and disgusting, filled with something so dark. Something that could kill.

"Harry, can you come and sit here with me," Petunia called from the dinner table, one day. Harry cautiously went to sit with her. Was she tired of trying to get the magic out of him? Would they abandon him? Had he perhaps used magic without noticing it?

"Don't worry, you've been a good boy these days. But tomorrow, you'll probably get a letter from a place called Hogwarts. It's a magical school which your parents went to too. You will have to go there, as they all see you as a hero for killing that madman who killed your parents, but you know better, right, Harry?" she asked, smiling that small smile of hers.

Tears filled his eyes.

"But I don't want to go, I probably have to do magic there, and that's bad, right?" Harry asked, bewildered. Why would they send him there? To become bad? Did they think he could not be saved?

"It is bad Harry, but you have to. They will come for you anyway, so you must pretend to like the magic there, okay? But while you're there, you need to somehow keep count of every spell you learn, and everything magic you do, okay? Then we'll take care of you when you come home, perhaps you can talk with Vernon about how to keep count," Petunia suggested, and relief slowly started to spread through his body.

They hadn't given up on him, they still wanted to help. He could go there and pretend like he didn't mind their weird rules and their brainwashed idea that magic was good, and once he got home, he could finally get cleansed.

And true to her words, his letter came the day after. Harry cried that night, so very much. It wouldn't be long until he had to go.

The urgency was felt in his beatings too. It seemed as if Vernon wanted to leave enough scars and pain for Harry to remember, remember that magic was bad. That was the one thing he should not forget.

He had been picked up by a professor from the school, a professor McGonagall, apparently Hagrid had been unable to come get him, and so he had to follow her around. She was old and stern, yet Harry really liked her. She was easy to be around.

Harry almost forgot that he wasn't supposed to enjoy his outing to the wizarding world, or that he wasn't supposed to want to get more things from there than he had already gotten.

That was a reminder he got that night though, a hit for every object he had gotten, and five for the wand. The wand was the most dangerous part, and Harry almost felt scary to touch it, because it made him feel so complete and so wrong.

The day before he had to go to the train was the worst. He had been about to sleep on his mattress, when Vernon had walked into the dark room, belt in hand, and pain Harry had not felt before was all that he knew.

"When you're at that freakish school, I want you to use this, to carve every spell and everything magic you do into your skin, so no one can see, and you cannot forget," Vernon said, throwing a small blade beside his mattress, before leaving him.

Broken, bleeding, in pain, and never happier. His magic wasn't to find in that moment, he was clean. Not for long, but long enough for Harry to feel elevated.

Even when he had to go through the weird wall at the station – his first cut – and leave on the magic train. It lasted him all the way through the train ride, right until he was standing with the other first years, hearing them whispering excitedly about what they thought Hogwarts would be like, that was when he remembered.

He would be unclean and bordering on bad for the next year, until he could finally come home to Vernon and Petunia again.

"Harry Potter is supposed to be here; did you hear that? I wonder what he looks like, do you think he'll let me see his scar?" he heard a person whisper, and he tried hard not to flinch when his name was mentioned.

His scar was nothing but a mark branding him as evil, a sinner.

"I doubt Harry Potter would want his scar bestowed by anybody as lowly as you, Weasley," a voice said, clearly someone posh and educated. Rich parents, big education.

Before the other boy could retort, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, hushing them all, and making them stand in line.

It became clear to Harry that he had ended next to the posh kid, seeing as how he was the only kid with polished shoes and slicked back hair, as if a wild hair would upset his ancestors.

They ignored each other and merely followed instructions, until they stood between two house tables, waiting to be sorted. In front of them were a stool with a hat upon it, and, when it started to sing, Harry could not contain his gasp.

He knew he would cut himself for that, knowing it wasn't using magic, but he was not supposed to feel attracted to magic either. That was dangerous.

Once the hat stopped singing, they were called up one by one, to get the hat on their head, and it would shout out their Hogwarts house.

The posh kid was sorted the quickest, the hat barely touching his head, before it shouted SLYTHERIN. The boy seemed happy. Harry just knew it would be yet another cut.

"Harry James Potter," Professor McGonagall called out, and the hall seemed to go completely quiet, only few people whispering his names excitedly to each other. Unsure and unused to such attention, he slowly went up to the stool.

Before the hat went on his head, he saw the posh kid look contemplatively at him.

 _Hmmm, what do we have here. Harry James Potter, it feels like yesterday that I sorted your mother and father. They were both in Gryffindor, and my, you could fit in there._

 _You have bravery and I see a fire within you, yes, very Gryffindor indeed._

The thought was dangerous, going to live where his parents had been. An alien feeling went through him, but a fear struck him. He could end up in the bed his father had slept in.

What a disgusting thought, he could not, not ever, lie in a bed his father had slept in, the father he had killed. Sit in a chair his mother had sat in, laugh in a place they had laughed, as if everything was okay. As if he had never hurt them.

 _Calm down Harry, please, I cannot read you if you do not calm your mind. Let me see, oh my, I cannot talk about anything I see to anybody young Potter, but if you seek out Severus Snape, it would be easier._

 _In fact, there is one thing that will make it even easier. You will fit in just right there Harry, you seem careful and intelligent, very good at hiding your intent and feelings too, most of them probably won't know what hit them, once you finally get out of your shell._

 _I hope you will have some lovely years here._

"SLYTHERIN"

And the hall got silent again.

A/N:

Yes, I have now started this other fanfiction too.

I have a more general idea about where I want to go with this, and I hope it entertains someone else than just me.

I do not own Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N:

In this chapter, I will go through first, second and third year.

Second chapter will be a quick recap of fourth year, and then really start the story at the end of the summer before fifth year.

Hope this chapter is not too boring.

Feel free to ask about anything, I will happily answer.

Enjoy (:

Harry could barely remember how the first few months of his first year at Hogwarts went. The only one who talked to him in Slytherin was the posh kid, Malfoy, the rest kept sending him contemplating or disgusted glances.

He was baffled when this hurt him, as he had not come to make friends, they all thought magic was good, they couldn't possibly know.

He did not talk with Malfoy as much as Malfoy talked to him. It did not seem to bother Malfoy that he often only got one-word answers from him, it did not deter him from following him everywhere, at least.

It was first by Halloween, when Professor Quirrell announced a troll was in the dungeons, that Harry sought a little comfort in Malfoy. The boy did not leave his side at all, making sure he did not get lost in the chaos, even when it was obvious to Harry that the boy was more scared than Harry probably was.

He said nothing, let him lead him, even though he could walk perfectly fine by himself. Somehow, the touch from Malfoy felt so completely foreign, even though Petunia had often placed her hand around his arms the same way.

After that they seemed a little closer, and over Christmas break, Harry bonded with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, who were the other first year boys who stayed at the castle.

None of them asked why, instead they found comfort in not being alone.

It was purely by accident that Harry stumbled across the three-headed dog. He had been out too late, staying in the library even after Malfoy, Nott and Zabini had left, warning him to come back soon. The stairs had confused him, and instead of taking him down, he had ended further up than he had intended.

It was the sound of Filch that had him running, and, though it cost him a cut, he had opened a door with Alohomora, only to panic at what was behind the door. The beast was magnificent, no doubt, but at that moment admiring its beauty was the last thing Harry wanted to do.

He ran as fast as he could down to the dungeons after he was sure Filch was gone. He didn't mention it to anyone, even though Malfoy asked him endlessly about it the next two weeks, until even Zabini and Nott grew tired of it and told him to 'shut up or get a stinging hex to his ass'.

Harry had thought he wouldn't have to think about the three-headed dog again, but he overheard a conversation between Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell which made him curious, and when he, after some gentle coaxing, got some words out of Hagrid, he was researching about Nicolas Flamel.

It was Weasley, of all people, who had given him the information about Flamel that he needed. The idiot, as Harry had dubbed him in his mind, had thrown a frog card with Dumbledore on it to the floor – well, the man was gone by the time Harry picked it up – which harry had picked up to throw out for the brat, when he read the text.

The philosopher's stone.

How Harry later found himself passing by the three-headed dog and going through tests to protect the stone, he honestly didn't know. How Malfoy and Zabini had come with him, he was even more unsure about. Nott had tried to stop them, albeit not very strongly, but he had given them disapproving glances until they were out of the common room.

Harry had of course thought about going to Professor Snape, but he knew the man was very cautious about him, for a reason unknown, and he was sure to be told to go to bed.

So, cost him the cuts it may, he would go down and make sure that such a powerful stone wasn't going into the hands of someone bad.

He was all by himself once he stood in front of a mirror, Professor Quirrell staring at him through it until he had made it all the way over beside him.

"Hello Harry," Quirrell said, the awful stutter he usually had completely gone. This somehow did not surprise Harry.

"Professor. Why are we staring at a mirror?" Harry asked, tilting his head, still unsure whether the man was a threat or not. He was yet to be attacked, but the man had to be there for a reason, right?

"Dumbledore apparently hid something very powerful in here, and I can't really figure out how he did it, or how to get it out," Quirrell answered, eerily calm. So, he did want the stone, which meant he was not to be trusted. He was bad.

Looking into the mirror, Harry got confused. He could no longer see Quirrell's reflection. He was standing there, two people he recognized as his parents from his aunt's pictures standing behind him. To his right was Malfoy, Zabini and Nott, and to his left were a lot of people he did not know, but they were all looking at him.

He could not read their minds, or the look in their eyes, it was like how Petunia looked at him, yet it was so different.

His mother stepped forward, placing a kiss on top of his head, and showing him a glinting red stone, which she put into his pocket. He could feel its weight there.

"Make the boy help us," a raspy voice said, startling Harry out of his intense stare at every face he saw in the mirror. He could not see anyone but Quirrell and himself in the actual room though.

And that was when Harry knew magic was really bad. When Quirrell took off his turban and revealed the head in the back of his head, another body living inside him.

It was scary, and it was bad, and Harry knew he had to punish himself even for just seeing such a freaky thing. What was worse was when he got to know it was Voldemort, the guy who killed his parents.

The one _he_ had made kill his parents, the one he was tainted by. He would have to be punished a lot for this, if he survived that was. Harry was scared and unsure about what he was supposed to do. Could he flee? Maybe get some teachers? Was Draco far, had it been long since he went into this room? Draco should soon be by Professor Snape's door, at least.

"Harry, boy, don't you want to share your find?" the head of the bad man asked, the voice just as raspy. Quirrell turned his head so he could look at him again.

"You have the stone? How did you get it, give it to me, Harry," he demanded, but Harry panicked. He didn't know what to do. His hand grabbed the stone in his pocked and then he threw it at the mirror.

Instead of destroying the mirror like he had thought it would, he saw his mother catching the stone, smiling happily at him.

"You foolish little brat," Quirrell snarled, bringing Harry back to the real world, and grabbed his hand. The man started to moan, removing his hand quickly. It was smoking, disappearing.

Shocked, Harry stepped back. Did he do that? Was his magic trying to come out and make him bad too?

"Destroy him, you idiot," the raspy voice of Voldemort breaking whatever trance Harry had been in. The man wanted to kill him, but he didn't want to fight. He just wanted to run and get out of there, so nobody got anymore hurt.

Quirrell had other plans, and soon he man was turning into dust, by Harry's hands. Harry wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore by the time Quirrell's body had turned completely into ashes and was lying on the floor, dead, gone.

His head felt so heavy, he could still hear the screams of Quirrell, begging for the pain to stop, yet Voldemort kept screaming to kill him, destroy him. He wasn't sure if he was also screaming, and the next thing he knew was darkness.

When he came to again, he was staring into Dumbledore's eyes. The man was telling him he had done the right thing, that Malfoy and Zabini were both okay.

"But Professor Quirrell," Harry had stammered out, only to be silenced by Dumbledore. The man had been taken care of, and he didn't have to worry about it anymore. That was when he noticed that the shadow behind Dumbledore was not a shadow, but Professor Snape.

He was staring at him, anger evident in his eyes. At him or at the probable loss of house points, Harry could not tell. Probably both.

And though Dumbledore did not punish him for what he had done down there, Vernon made sure to do so.

…

By the end of the summer before second year, Harry loathed the thought of going to Hogwarts again. He knew he needed the pain to get the bad magic out, but his body felt sore and his chest oddly empty, the smiles of Petunia no longer quite satisfying enough.

When a house elf called Dobby shows up in his room, he knows he will get another big beating, but he also cannot help but hope that what it says means he can stay home. If someone has an evil plan, going there would only taint him, wouldn't it?

He did not expect his aunt to say that he still had to go, that he had to remember that it may just come here and taint them all. Would he not protect them too, like they were protecting him from the bad magic inside him?

And that was how he found himself with an even more sore body and his trunk in hand, ready to go to Hogwarts. He had arrived very early, his aunt scared that something might try to keep him away from Hogwarts.

The train ride was long yet too short. Malfoy, Nott and Zabini had found him and settled down with him. He was glad they accepted his silence and did not force him to talk, though he was getting tired of hearing about Zabini's trip to Italy and Malfoy's long stay in France with his family.

He was jealous, yet he knew he should not be. He was bad, he was tainted, he did not deserve such love and luxury from his family.

What made his year worse, was their new DADA teacher, Professor Lockhart. The man made Harry want to throw up, especially when he made sure to put attention on him, thinking he wanted it as much as the man did.

This, in turn, made Professor Snape keep an eye on him too. Or perhaps it was because of his escapades the prior year. He did not like it no matter what. He could always feel him staring at him.

Even worse was the voice he kept hearing in his head, it was menacing and bad and evil and he could not make it stop. He tried following it, but he kept turning into empty corridors. Perhaps he was turning bad, his mind betraying him first. He did not mention it to anybody.

It became impossible for him to keep it a secret from Malfoy, Zabini and Nott though, after he had heard the voice again, more menacing than ever, while walking with them. He had run off, following it, and they had been right behind him, calling his name.

He stopped when he stepped into a puddle, Filch's cat hanging by its tail on a torch. It was the words written with what appeared to be blood, which made Harry feel sick to his stomach though.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

Professor Snape gave him detention for three nights, tried to make him talk about why he was the first one there, yet only Malfoy, Zabini and Nott got to know why.

They had looked at him like he was weird at first, but then they had shrugged it off, and since then protected him from other students who were too curious.

Weasley was not one easily kept away, he used the opportunity to stain Harry's name as much as possible, spewing off horrible lies to anyone who would listen.

It was made worse when it was revealed Harry could speak Parseltongue, yet another taint he had. That one Harry looked forward to getting hurt for, hoping it would make it retreat, disappear.

The ability made everyone listen very eagerly to everything Weasley said, especially when people started getting petrified, and Hermione Granger was one of them. Though Weasley always spoke badly of her, she was suddenly a very frail victim in his eyes.

It also made Professor Snape keep an even closer eye on him.

When it became apparent that Ginny had been taken to the Chambers of Secrets, Weasley immediately sought him out.

"What did you do to my sister?" he yelled, as he slammed Harry up against the corridor wall. The bricks dug into Harry's back uncomfortably, but he had felt worse.

Malfoy and Zabini were quick to get him off him, while Nott stood ready with his wand.

While Harry had no clue where exactly Ginny were or what had happened to her, he knew it was not her fault that her brother was a brat, and so he started searching for an entrance to the chambers.

Nott was the genius in this, he had apparently been researching about the Chambers of Secrets since the first incident and had learned that it was not the first time it had happened at Hogwarts. A girl had been killed before by whatever monster was kept in the Chambers, yet Nott had not found out where exactly she had been killed.

Harry knew though. If anything, he was a good listener, and the girls always complained about Moaning Myrtle, the ghost who would not stop complaining about being dead and being alone, and how sudden it had been.

And that was how they found themselves in the girl's bathroom, staring down a dark tunnel.

Before they could go anywhere, Lockhart showed up. As the man had prattled on about how he knew Harry was evil, Nott slipped out, mouthing he would find Snape.

Lockhart seemed like he would never tire of speaking, yet he suddenly grabbed Harry by the arm.

"Who would've thought that the boy-who-lived would be under my mercy?" he whispered, making Harry nauseous. In a panic, he wanted to wrestle his arm free from his touch, yet he had not counted on being so close to the tunnel, and then they were both falling.

"Harry!" Malfoy yelled.

"Stay up there, make sure Nott finds Professor Snape, perhaps also McGonagall. I'm fine, I'll try to find Ginny," Harry shouted, and to make sure they would not try to come down, he made the tunnel close, not hearing they reply.

Lockhart was knocked out, lying a few meters away from him. It was cold and dirty down there, but he had his wand and he could only go forward now.

He ended up in a big hall, Ginny looking like she was asleep on the wet floor, while a teenager was keeping an eye on her.

When Harry came closer, he could see the features of the boy, and it made his heart flutter. The boy was rather gorgeous, his cheekbones high, hair slightly curly, stature perfectly poised.

Yet the look in his eyes was inhuman. He liked the sight of Ginny laying there, defenseless and cold.

From there Hell opened its gates, and Harry was suddenly face to face with a Basilisk. And as he felt himself dying, the Basilisk poison slowly spreading through his veins, he felt completely at ease.

He had expected panic, the boy, the younger Voldemort, obviously had so too. Yet it was as if Harry knew exactly what to do, taking the Basilisk fang out of his arm and stabbing the diary with it.

Yet another death, yet another punishment. Would death be his ultimate cleansing and punishment for the evil he had done? He almost found himself hoping so, not once letting go of the fang, yet the Phoenix showed up again.

Harry was pretty sure it was the Headmaster's, yet he was unsure. No matter what, it healed him, and he felt conflicted. His body was happy it was still living, yet his mind told him it would've been better to die there, a hero in the wizarding world, and a cleansed child in the Dursley household.

That was not to be, as they were all carried up from the Chambers, even Lockhart however much Harry felt like leaving the man down there, and what awaited them were Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Malfoy, Zabini and Nott, all looking very anxious and angry except for Dumbledore, who looked oddly calm.

Yet again Dumbledore did not punish Harry, even after hearing the full story. He even told him to wear the Basilisk fang around his neck proudly, showing off his victory. Even Professor Snape made a noise at that, as he had accompanied him to the Headmaster's office.

After that, Harry was glad to go home to the Dursley's again, back to the only people who knew what he really was.

A murderer.

…

Third year was confusing.

It all started with how Malfoy seemed overprotective of him. From the moment he entered the carriage Harry had gotten them on the train, he never once let his eyes stray too far, always had something touching him, as if he wanted him close at any time.

And then the train stopped, and everything got so unbearably cold, and Harry felt as if he was back in the cupboard at the Dursley's, after he had been beaten. He felt so hollow, alone, as if he would never be able to smile again.

It had disappeared, but in his depressive trance, Harry had grabbed Malfoy's hand, so by default they all knew that Harry had a bad reaction to what they learned were dementors. Dark creatures, which were to guard the castle through the year.

Furthermore, both Professor Snape and the new DADA teacher, Professor Lupin, were keeping a close eye on him. He felt claustrophobic with all the constant staring of the people around him, so naturally he ended up searching for places to be alone.

Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, but Malfoy got mad every time he disappeared for a couple of hours, demanding to know where he had been. He never told. And if he somehow ended up in a hidden part of the library and studied with none other than Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, well, it was their secret.

The year got weirder, when Professor Snape called him into his office one evening and told him he was not to wonder the grounds, especially alone. Apparently, Malfoy had complained enough to him about how Harry disappeared, and he wanted to see an end to it.

That same week, Professor Lupin made him stay after class. The man had heard he had a bad reaction to Dementors and wanted to teach him to defend himself. And that was how he found himself spending every Thursday evening at Professor Lupin's office, learning the Patronus spell.

And that was when a man named Sirius Black attacked the castle. Malfoy got even more protective and obsessive, but this time around, Nott and Zabini gave him support.

He was surrounded at all times, with eyes on him no matter where he went. It wasn't enough in the end.

Harry had been walking outside with Malfoy, Zabini and Nott, when a rat had come running by. Malfoy had grabbed it, laughing, because he knew it was Weasley's stupid rat.

That was when a big black dog had charged, grabbed Malfoy by the leg and dragged him through a tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

None of them cared about the consequences, as they all went after the dog, ending up in the Shrieking Shack.

It was cold, the floorboards scratched and stained with blood, the furniture that was there was destroyed and ripped, as if a beast had been set loose and torn it apart.

They ended up in room with a destroyed bed, a big table and a whining Malfoy cradling a rat and his leg. As soon as Malfoy saw them, he shook his head, and was about to tell them to leave, when the door shut close behind them.

Harry was grabbed, his wand taken out of his pocket and pressed against his neck. Zabini and Nott slowly walked towards Malfoy, their wands in their hands, as Harry made a gesture for them to create some distance.

"Harry, Harry, please listen to me, I'm your godfather, Sirius Black. I need you to cooperate with me, and make sure the rat doesn't get away," the man said, his voice raspy.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry went with it. He nodded and was let go, though he did not get his wand back.

"I want you to be ready to stun the rat, as soon as he turns into a human, okay?" Sirius said, and before Harry could comprehend exactly what he was told, the man fired a spell at the rat and they all watched as it slowly turned into a small, fat man, whose entire appearance screamed disgusting.

"Stupefy," Harry instinctively said, stunning the man.

The silence roared, as they all tried to get to terms with what they had just seen. That was when the door opened, and professor Lupin came in.

"Harry get away from that man," professor Lupin said, grabbing Harry and pulling him away from Sirius, only to notice the man on the floor.

"Is… is that, Peter?" the professor stuttered out, turned to Sirius, and after a big sob from both of them, they were hugging each other, as if they had been starved off each other's touch for forever.

And that was when professor Snape entered the room.

"Lupin, I need you to get away from here, you cannot be around people right now. I'll take care of this, leave," the professor said, his tone as stiff as always, as he tried to take in the ragged form of Sirius, the hurt Malfoy and the stunned 'Peter'.

Professor Lupin did not argue, instead he seemed to search for something in Snape's eyes, before he nodded and disappeared.

"Snivellus-"

"Listen Black, I don't have time for childish word games. I see that Peter here is indeed still alive, but you cannot be on the school grounds. There are dementors everywhere, and I, for one, would not mind if they hurt you but I know other people would miss you, for one reason or another. Get out of here, perhaps find Lupin, leave this to me," Snape snarled, and, stunned into silence, Sirius went off too.

"Severus, my leg really hurts," Malfoy said, startling Harry. He had somewhat forgotten that the man was a godfather to Malfoy, it almost felt wrong to hear the man's first name used so casually.

"I'll take a look at it as soon as we get inside the castle, first I need to deal with this man. Can you three make sure to get safely inside by yourself?" the professor asked, giving Harry an extra-long look.

That was how the three found their way inside, making their way to the potion professor's quarters.

Two days later, the headlines of the prophet wrote 'SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT? PETER PETTIGREW STILL LIVES'.

And that was all Harry heard about Sirius Black that year, not questioning the fact that the man apparently was his godfather and professor Lupin was friends with him, for it would make him long for something he did not deserve and could not have.

He gave himself three cuts just for the thought.

Added two extra on the train on the way home for summer.

Then decided he might as well punish himself a little more and added six more. One for each person he wanted to care about him.

It was a too short summer.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

 **And so we finally, after a short recap of fourth year, really begin the story. I hope this chapter is enjoyable, do leave a review.**

...

Fourth year was both worse and better than the others.

Harry had never felt as cleansed after a summer as that one, as he had made sure to add extra cuts, and mention random magical things, whenever he thought about how he wanted to go see Malfoy or could use Zabini by his side or wanted a talk with Nott.

Or worse, when he allowed himself to think about how different his life would have been, if his godfather had raised him – worse, was what he tried to make himself think. He would've been brainwashed into thinking his magic was good.

Malfoy had invited him to join him for the Quidditch World Cup, but he had declined, knowing he would only be in the way in the family outing. It turned out to be a good decision, as Death Eaters apparently had wreaked havoc on the place.

Coming back to Hogwarts, Harry found out they had yet another DADA teacher, one he found rather disturbing. Something seemed off about the ex-auror, but the man knew a lot about magic, so he tried not to think about it, even when his magical eye seemed to be stuck to him.

As a surprise, the school decided to hold the Triwizard Tournament, and an even bigger surprise was when he was named a fourth champion.

Even though the entire school, and especially the Weasley brat, seemed to be against him, Malfoy, Zabini and Nott kept close to him, knowing he would not and had not had the time to put his name in the goblet. For some reason, professor Snape also seemed to be keen on subtly helping him with the tasks.

The dragons had been an entire horror show of their own, the lake an experience he did not want to have again, especially as Malfoy had been the person down there, and he was very smug about it.

The third task was what turned out to be the biggest nightmare though.

He had set off as the first person, running into few challenges, until he saw Krum. The boy, who he had talked with a few times, had seemed off, and when he later heard Delacour scream and found the boy torturing her, he stunned him and sent off her signal to get her help.

Soon he was standing close to the trophy, but he was not the only one.

"Diggory," Harry said, surprised when he noticed the other boy in the clearing too. The boy brightened and smiled widely at him.

They had bonded through the tasks, helping each other and studying more often together in the hidden part of the library where they met the year prior. And if the boy's smile sometimes had made his heart skip a beat, it wasn't something he had told anybody, least the boy himself.

"Harry," Cedric said, in his deeper voice that Harry had come to enjoy listening to, especially when he would explain a concept to him – he did not care it was magic he spoke of, he just liked listening to him talk.

"Do you want the trophy?" Harry asked. He had not intended to get this far ahead, and definitely did not want the attention it brought if he was to win.

"We can take it together? I don't want to duel you, and honestly, I don't think I can carry the fame that comes with it alone," Cedric suggested, still smiling brightly, as they slowly closed the distance to the trophy, until they were standing right before it.

"I don't really want any of the fame," Harry said, and Cedric laughed while nodding.

"Oh, I know that, you don't really like attention in general. Perhaps it will be easier when we're two to share it? It can be our thing to brag about together, when discussing homework becomes too boring," the boy answered, and with the way he smiled, Harry just sighed before he nodded.

"On the count of three? 1, 2, 3," Cedric counted, and then they both grabbed it. It seemed to heat up in their hands, before they were sucked away and thrown onto the ground.

They landed roughly, getting the air knocked out of them, though they both quickly got up, wands out.

"Was this supposed to be a portkey?" Cedric asked, but Harry wasn't sure if he was actually asking, or just thinking out loud. He still shrugged, unsure about what to make of their surroundings.

It was dark, and a fog made it hard to see far, though they could make out a figure coming closer. It looked as if the person was carrying a bundle of something.

As the person got closer, it started to get clearer who they could see.

"Professor Moody?" Harry inquired, and then suddenly his head was hurting. It exploded behind his eyes, making him cry out and fall to his knees. Cedric was beside him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Harry? Harry, are you okay? What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, and Harry wanted to desperately to tell him to run, go grab the portkey, get out of there, but he could not get the words out.

"Kill the spare," a hoarse voice said, and suddenly Cedric was no longer holding his hand on his shoulder, instead he heard a hard thud, and when he finally opened his eyes, he was looking straight at Cedric.

Worry was still somehow etched into the creases around his empty eyes, his mouth half-open and his body completely still. Before Harry could really comprehend what he was seeing, he was suddenly levitated and slapped against a headstone, vines strapping him to it.

From there, it was all very confusing, and just a mix of pain and his brain trying to keep up with everything happening around him, and then there Voldemort was, uglier than ever, calling his Death Eaters to him.

"Now, why don't we have a little duel, hm?" was all Voldemort said, and then Harry fell to the ground as the vines let him go. Laughter erupted, then complete silence.

From there it was more confusion and pain, lots of pain, the Crucio curse was one Harry hoped to never encounter again.

He did not expect to be able to get away from there alive, he was sure that graveyard would be were his body would fall, perhaps beside Cedric, because fate was cruel and funny like that. Yet their brother wands helped him, as the spirits of people showed up and guided Harry.

Then he was running for his life, running towards the cup and Cedric, and then he was back with the rest of the world, wishing he was the one who had been killed back there.

He couldn't stop crying, he couldn't even tell why he was crying after a while. He added some more cuts to his collection, not necessarily because he wanted to be punished, but to feel something.

Yet he looked forward to the summer, he wanted the punishment. What punishment would be fitting of getting yet another person harmed?

What price can you pay for another person's life?

Harry was about to find out.

…

"Harry, dear, you'll be late for your train if you don't start moving now," Petunia's voice said through the door, and Harry sighed. His body was so sore, for some reason his magic wasn't being as helpful as it usually was.

Perhaps it was a good sign, that he was finally getting rid of his magic. Harry wasn't sure, he just felt bad. For killing Quirrell, for killing Cedric, for killing a troll, for having magic, for being the fault his parents were killed, for mentioning magic the other day, for thinking he could sit and eat with the Dursleys still, after he had done so many bad things, for wanting someone to comfort him.

He just felt bad.

Getting up from his mattress was hard, but he had to get going. He shouldn't make them wait anymore.

The ride to the train was spent in complete silence, right until Harry had to get off the car.

"Keep those freaks from sending you letters the next summer, will you? The damn owls are unnatural, we don't need that attention," Vernon grunted out, and, before Harry could answer him, he was being shoved out of the car with his trunk.

Letters? He had gotten letters? He would not think about that, he had already told them long ago that he did not answer letters over the summer, they should have known better.

Harry was once again the first of the four to arrive, so he found them the same compartment they had used the prior years, and waited for Malfoy, Zabini and Nott to show up.

In the meantime, he tried to relax his body. They were very observant, and they had asked more about how he spent his summer, as they had come to realize he never talked about his family or what he did. He did not need them to be more suspicious of him.

His back was hurting, though, so it was hard to find a position he could look relaxed and normal in. When the door opened and the three entered together, he instantly deflated and tried to look at ease. They would never understand, they could not know.

Malfoy sat down next to him, while Zabini and Nott sat opposite them.

"So, how did you spend your summer?" Malfoy asked, though his voice was tilted in the way that indicated he was clearly irritated, and probably at Harry. He knew, Malfoy was bad at masking his emotions, even though that was what he prided himself on.

Zabini, however, wasn't pleased with the tone used and kicked Malfoy's leg.

"Hey, what? I asked a simple question," Malfoy snarled, moving as if he could be out of Zabini's reach, and by default ended up sitting up against Harry.

"Don't be a jerk, he has had a hard time, and this year won't be easy. Give him some support, you dolt," Zabini said, rolling his eyes.

Harry hated when they talked about him as if he wasn't there, which happened quite often, because the other three often disagreed about how they should be around him.

While Malfoy was both very maternal yet very selfish, Zabini was carefree and ever supportive, while Nott was compromising and very book smart, and then Harry was there, quiet yet somehow just adopted into the group.

"Fine, I know, I just thought he didn't need us when he obviously didn't find time to reply to our letters all summer," Malfoy muttered, folding his arms and staring out the window. Harry could tell he was quite embarrassed about his attitude, so he gave him a small nudge and a smile.

Tension seemed to leave Malfoy as he brightened and started talking about his own summer.

That was how they always spent their time in the train; listening to Malfoy chatter about his summer and how his father did this and that, or how he went here and there.

Zabini would keep Malfoy grounded, and stop him from making up things that did not happen, while Nott would quietly read his book.

The year would turn out to be very different from the others though.

…

"I sincerely hope I do not have to tell you to keep your head down around Umbridge," Malfoy whispered to him, as they sat in DADA, their new teacher starting the class.

Harry found it hard to concentrate, as his back was still hurting, and he could feel his body trying to fight a starting infection.

He merely nodded in Malfoy's direction.

The woman, though she seemed like she would be quite friendly with her pink attire, was quite the opposite. In a way, Harry could find the irony in it and thereby a little joy. She was very adamant at bringing out his worst though.

"Mr. Potter, stop talking with Mr. Malfoy," she tutted, and, in his state of mild fever and pain, he could not control his anger. The woman had been doing that whenever anything happened in the class or whenever he would pass her in the hallways, every since they started a week ago.

He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but even Malfoy's warning did not reach him.

"I did not talk, professor," Harry gritted out, making Malfoy sigh.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, do you have anything you wish to tell me?" she asked in a sickly-sweet way, that reminded him very much of how Petunia would make sure he kept his mouth shut whenever he started getting a little too close to dangerous territory.

"I said, professor, that I did not speak to Malfoy, and I would like it if you would stop blaming for everything going wrong in this classroom, as I am not everywhere and am not the only student in here," he answered, already knowing Malfoy would torment him about proper behavior anyway.

"Detention with me tonight after dinner, Mr. Potter. Do not be late," she said, turning her back to him and continuing with her lesson.

Somehow, Harry got the feeling he walked right into a trap.

Later that day found Harry walking towards her office, trying very hard to stay focused. He could feel the fever kicking in, and he had developed a small headache.

All he wanted to do after dinner was sleep, but he knew it would only make matters worse, so after dinner he found himself standing in front of Professor Umbridge in her creepy office.

"Sit right over there and start writing lines. No, no need to find your own quill, I have one for you right here," professor Umbridge ordered, giving him a quill, as he was about to set down and find his stuff. She levitated paper over to him, and, as he settled down with his back to her, he could feel her eyes staring at him, waiting.

"What am I to write, professor?" he asked, when the silence got too stifling. She cleared her throat. Harry did not know it was possible to sound pleased while doing that, but she made being smug an art.

"You are to write 'I must not tell lies'," she answered.

"How many lines, professor?" he asked. He could practically feel her smiling.

"Until it sinks in."

And then all Harry felt for the next few hours was pain. It was hard not to gasp or grunt, especially when the scar kept reappearing in the same place, and he knew. She wanted to scar him, make sure he knew who had the authority, that he should remember his place.

 _I must not tell lies_ was slowly becoming part of his hand, part of his skin, in his scrabble. And he could do nothing. She was with the ministry. They must have approved the quill, wanting to keep him from talking more about a madman they could not defeat.

If he felt any satisfaction from being punished he decided not to dwell on it.

"It is soon curfew, you better be on your way, Mr. Potter," professor Umbridge said, making Harry snap out of his thoughts. He put the pen down, gathered his things and handed her the paper.

Her smile was sickly sweet. It somehow reminded him of Petunia's.

"Thank you," she said as she took the paper, putting it in a drawer in the desk. He could hear her giggle to herself and hum, as he exited the office.

The hallways were empty, he was not sure what time it was. His hand was hurting, but his back was worse. The fever had settled more, and it made him feel weak.

The common room was more or less empty, except for a few seventh years sitting at a table, obviously studying something rather passionately.

Bracing himself, Harry went to his room he shared with Malfoy, Nott and Zabini, knowing he would have to be exceptionally quiet and unresponsive for them to leave him alone, though Malfoy would probably still talk his ears off about how stupid he had been, until he would shut his curtains around his bed and place silence charms.

And he was correct.

As soon as he entered, Malfoy was up from sitting on his bed and talking.

"Harry! What were you thinking, angering Umbridge like that, you know she is from the ministry, she can make your life a hell here, if you go too much against her," Malfoy started talking, while Harry started finding his pajamas.

"It really isn't smart to get a detention from someone from the ministry, while they're trying to make you look like a lunatic in the papers," Nott added from his bed, while Zabini hummed in agreement.

And Harry knew, he really did. He regretted his words to her as soon as they were leaving his mouth, but it was so hard to not snap at everyone.

He could feel his body getting weaker, but he didn't know what he could do about it, or what he even should do about it.

"I know," Harry whispered before climbing into his bed, shutting the curtains around him, making sure they were stuck, and changed to his pajamas, throwing his normal clothes to the foot end of his bed.

"There's no reason to be so hard on him, I'm pretty sure he already knows that it wasn't smart. I'm more curious what made him snap at her, did she say anything special to him?" Harry could hear Zabini ask.

They probably thought he was too inside his own head to hear them or had placed a silencing charm all around him. He had not yet though.

"I don't know, she didn't say anything unusual, did she? But honestly, I'm pretty sure she could make a Hufflepuff snap at her, she's so infuriating," Malfoy answered, making the others chuckle.

Sighing, Harry decided to just put up the silencing charm. It felt weird to hear them discuss him, and it didn't sound like they would discuss anything that he would gain anything from.

It was early when he next awoke, but he could not sleep any longer; his body felt sore and restless, so he decided to take a shower, knowing the others would not wake up before an hour later.

And he was right, he was fully showered and dressed and was packing his bag while reading a little in their defense book, when the others started rising.

They did not comment on him being up before than them anymore, they just went about and did what they had to do.

"You look a little under the weather, Harry, are you feeling okay?" Zabini asked, when they were all going down to the great hall for breakfast.

"I might have a small cold, but else I'm fine, don't worry," Harry answered, trying to ignore the analyzing look he got from them all, breathing a small sigh of relief when they nodded and accepted his answer.

Everything was just such a mess.

…

Another week passed, before Harry one morning felt too horrible to get up. His entire body felt clammy yet too cold, but he could tell his clothes were damp with sweat.

He woke up early like always but could not stay awake and awoke next when the others had cancelled his silencing charms and were ripping open his curtains.

"Harry? Are you okay?" Malfoy asked, gasping when he saw the state he was in, brining a hand to his forehead.

"You're burning up, we'll go get you some fever reducing potion from Madam Pomfrey and make sure you get some breakfast, just relax, okay?" Malfoy rambled, and was out the door without consulting the others.

"I will go and tell professor Snape then, so you can be checked by either him or Pomfrey, Merlin knows Malfoy will probably emit all information about you in his haste to get a potion for you," Nott sighed, walking out the door too.

"I'll stay here with you until you've gotten your potion and breakfast then," Zabini said with a smile, settling down by his bed.

"You can go if you want to," Harry croaked out, not sure how to feel about Zabini being around him while he was sick.

"It's fine, I would rather stay here than go and sit at the table all alone. Also, someone has to look after you while Malfoy worries himself blind and Nott tries to do whatever Malfoy forgets," Zabini said, shrugging. Harry smiled at that, knowing that was exactly what was going to happen.

It didn't take long before Malfoy entered with a potion and a bowl of oatmeal in each hand, rushing over to him. He didn't get to fuss about him though, because Nott entered with professor Snape shortly thereafter.

"Please step aside Mr. Malfoy, let me see Mr. Potter," professor Snape said, coming over to Harry. And that was when Harry started slowly panicking. He could not let professor Snape find out, he could not see his back, he could not possibly understand.

"I will cast a diagnosis charm on you, Mr. Potter, to find out what is wrong with you," their professor said, and, before he could say anything, he had already cast it, a paper appearing out of thin air, which the professor read with a frown.

"It looks like your fever is due to an infection, would you be able to tell me where you might have an injury that could be the cause, Mr. Potter?" the professor asked, staring at him.

He hated how it always felt like the professor was boring holes into him, keeping him restrained with a simple glance.

Unable to answer, not wanting to answer, Harry merely shook his head. This was not happening, this could not be happening.

"We do not know of anything that may could have caused it, professor, he has not gotten an injury while here of what we know," Nott injected, making the professor narrow his eyes.

"Perhaps your diagnosis is wrong, it's probably just a small flu, professor," Harry said, trying to sit up and show that he wasn't that ill, but his garment rubbed his back, and he had to bite his lip to not groan out loud, but their professor was a hawk. He had noticed.

"Settle down, Mr. Potter, the diagnosis charm is not wrong. If you cannot pinpoint the area of irritation yourself, I will have to check your body," the professor stated, and with those words the three others dismissed themselves from the room.

"I'm sure that it isn't necessary professor," Harry said hastily, when the professor made to get his clothes removed.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Potter, and we can do it here or in the Hospital Wing, it is your choice, but I will have to know where the cause is so I can cure you," and with those word said, Harry knew he could not get out of the situation.

Seeing how Harry did not protest or say anything else, the professor swished his wand, leaving Harry in only his boxers. The cold air felt nice against his clammy skin, but his relief was short-lived, as professor Snape started running his wand up and down his limbs.

"Turn over onto your stomach, Mr. Potter," he commanded, but Harry kept still. Then the professor would see them. He could not, Vernon would be so mad, this was the only thing that was not supposed to happen.

"Fine, Mr. Potter," professor Snape sighed, before he carefully turned him over, but even the surprisingly gentle touch from his professor aggravated his wounds on his back, and his gasp almost covered the professor's.

"I will have to get you to the Hospital Wing, I cannot deal with this alone, Mr. Potter, and rest assured this shall be discussed," professor Snape stated, making Harry groan.

His life really was a mess.


	4. Chapter 3

Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, I hope this chapter is entertaining.

Do leave a comment, perhaps give me ideas for a pairing? I'm not completely settled yet, but I do have some ideas. Ta!

...

"Madam Pomfrey, I acquire your assistance," professor Snape bellowed, as they entered the hospital wing. The woman came from her office, looking ready to give him a rather stringy answer, until she saw Harry.

He had been put back in his clothes and led by Snape all the way to the infirmary. Professor Snape had only given Zabini, Nott and Malfoy a simple look when they all started inquiring about what was wrong, and, though Malfoy had needed an extra hard stare, they had all hushed and let them go alone.

"Oh dear, Mr. Potter, you seem to be quite sick, let's find you a bed," she said, and led him to the nearest bed. She was about to make him lie down, when professor Snape interrupted.

"He needs to lie on his stomach, if we are to help him," he drawled. Bewildered, she made Harry lie on his stomach. It felt humiliating and scary, and she had yet to actually see his back.

He wanted so desperately to either run or make them understand why he deserved the wounds, why there was a reason for them. He wanted them to know that he was to be left alone, if he died, so be it, at least his magic would die with him.

He did none of them.

Instead, he closed his eyes and sighed as they vanished his shirt, and Harry heard Madam Pomfrey gasp. He was stupid to not get something that could have helped the wounds, or gone somewhere else, some place he could die at peace.

Now he was there, with professor Snape and Pomfrey bustling around him, applying creams and muttering spells. Vernon would be mad, so mad. This was not the plan. He was supposed to be smarter than this.

How many cuts would this amount to?

"Mr. Potter, I will have to tell the Headmaster about this. I suppose nobody knows about this but the three of us right here?" professor Snape inquired. Harry shook his head no, he could not open his mouth yet. He was not sure whether he would scream at them or cry or worse; both.

So dumb, he was so dumb. What could he do? How would he get back to Vernon? How could he punish himself for this? Would they believe him, if he told them why? Perhaps they would punish him, and then Vernon would not be as mad?

"It is amazing you have survived what you have, Mr. Potter, it seems your magic has been saving you, you have been very lucky," Madam Pomfrey commented, making Harry snort. He wasn't lucky, his magic was evil, it was dumb that it kept trying to save him so much, when it was the enemy.

"You will also have to talk to someone about what has happened, Mr. Potter. I cannot tell the Headmaster much yet, so you can choose between telling us what has happened, or you can talk to the Headmaster about it all," professor Snape stated, making freeze.

"No," he croaked out. He could practically feel professor Snape raising his one eyebrow.

"No?" he repeated.

"No. I won't say anything. None of you understand," Harry elaborated. They wouldn't understand any of it, so what was the point? They all thought magic was good, that it was a blessing.

It was a curse, poison, and it was running through his blood, and he just wanted it out.

"Abuse is not something anybody could ever possibly understand, Mr. Potter, but alas, you have to talk about what has happened. We will also ensure that you will not return to that household again," professor Snape said. There was something in the words Harry had said, that made the man sound comprehensive.

As if taking him away from them was the right way to go about it, as if he wanted to get away from them, they knew best for him.

They knew what evil lied within him, and they let him stay there. They gave him a roof over his head, enough food to survive, they took care of him.

He wanted to make them proud, he knew they would love him, once he had gotten rid of his magic. He had to go back there.

"Now, Severus, I think it would be better to give him his potions and let him rest. Then we can talk about all this tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey interrupted, before Harry could retort.

"Very well. I will take my leave then. Rest well, Mr. Potter, I will come by tomorrow and have a chat with you," and then Harry could hear the billowing of his robes, as the professor left.

"I will put a lotion onto your back, which should heal the wounds mostly, so that you can sit up tomorrow. Would you prefer to drink a sleeping potion now, so you will not feel it?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her voice wavering when she said wounds.

"Yes please," Harry answered, wanting to sleep it all away, wishing it was all a bad dream.

Soon enough, darkness embraced him.

…

Darkness didn't embrace him long enough. When Harry next woke it was to the sound of voices, arguing, but trying to be quiet.

Perhaps in a futile attempt to keep him quiet, but it was all for naught.

He wanted so badly to be at Privet Drive. Curl up in the cupboard. Let that darkness embrace him instead.

"What do you mean we can't see him? He's sick, we are his friends, surely it won't be a problem to see him and make sure he isn't dying, which the way you left with him yesterday made it seem," Harry heard Malfoy hiss.

"Mr. Malfoy, _Draco_ , he needs to sleep and heal, I will call for you, all three of you, once he is up for a visit," professor Snape said in a low soothing voice.

"If he's asleep it would be quite alright for us to just take a look at him, and then return to our dorms," Nott pointed out. Professor Snape sighed.

Knowing they were there, Malfoy, Nott and Zabini, made Harry feel something, something he could not put his finger on.

But he wanted them gone.

He wanted to disappear, they couldn't see him like this, no, they shouldn't see him like this. They wouldn't understand, and, even worse, if they did understand, he would not feel the warm reassurance of Malfoy's presence. Or Nott's silent companionship. Or hear Zabini's funny comments on everything.

And yet, was that not what he deserved? To lose all that? He was not supposed to have it at all, he was tainted.

"Draco, no," was all Harry heard professor Snape say, before the curtains around him were ripped open. He felt the rush of air touch his back, and he involuntarily shivered.

"What… who did this to him?" Malfoy demanded, anger clear in his voice.

"I cannot say anything, mainly because Harry has yet to say anything about it. I will have to speak with him when he wakes, but it would be wise if you all left now and do not tell anybody of this," professor Snape said.

Naked, he might as well have been naked. So weak and tainted and unloved and evil.

"Professor, will you make sure he does not go back to his relatives?" Nott enquired.

"What makes you believe that his relatives did this to him?" Malfoy asked, confused.

"Not everyone comes from a loving home, Draco, and where else would he have gotten those wounds? Let's go, we will just have to be there for him once he gets back," Zabini said, his voice low.

They knew, they knew, and they were staying, and he was, he was happy? But he wasn't allowed to be, not when he wasn't right.

"We will leave, but you will have to update us on his situation," Malfoy said, and, before he could get an answer, Harry heard their retrieving steps.

"You don't have to pretend to be asleep anymore, Mr. Potter," professor Snape said, making Harry snap his eyes open and turn his head to look at him.

The man was closing his curtains, before he turned around, not surprised to see the teenager look at him.

"Your friends were very stubborn, I am sorry they had to see you like this. Are you in pain?" the professor asked, walking over to him and settling down on the chair by the bed.

Pain? His back was stinging, he could feel his cuts healing. He would have to cut a lot more into his skin, if he were to be punished accordingly for all of this.

He shook his head no, and, while the professor did not look like he believed him, he did not call him out on it.

"We will have to talk about this, Mr. Potter. I need to know what else has happened to you, though your scars tell their own stories. But I need to know, so I can bring you to safety, and make sure you will not be hurt further," professor Snape stated.

He was in safety at Privet Drive, why couldn't they just see that? Couldn't they feel the darkness in him?

"No," Harry said.

Professor Snape only raised an eyebrow to that reply, enquiring him to elaborate.

"I am safe at home, at Privet Drive. I have to go there, it is not my relatives who hurt me, they wouldn't," Harry lied, or perhaps he told the truth.

He was safe there and they did not hurt him for anything that he didn't deserve.

"Then I will have to know who did it, Mr. Potter. I cannot let you go, before I know you will be safe," was the reply he got from Professor Snape.

Shit. Bullocks. Fuck. He had no clue what to answer.

"Mr. Potter, if I have to use legilimency or veritaserum I will, and I will get an acceptance from the ministry for it too, if you do not cooperate. Any harm to any student has to be processed and stopped," professor Snape stated.

"Then get your ministry acceptance for it, professor," Harry dared, not sure if the man was bluffing or not. But no matter what, he would not willingly turn his family over, they were his only safety.

"Very well, I will be back in a few hours then, Mr. Potter. I will make the elves bring you something to eat," he said, before disappearing.

Well fuck.

…

He was nervous, incredibly so. No matter how hard he tried convincing himself that professor Snape couldn't possibly get a permission, he kept thinking about the what ifs.

It was a nervousness settling in his stomach as hard as a rock, alike the one he got when summer break ended, and he would have to go back to Hogwarts soon.

Every second seemed long, yet they passed by so fast.

The food the elves had brought him was left untouched, and was still like that, when professor Snape showed up three hours later, a woman following him.

She looked as intimidating as professor Snape, her features sharp despite the obvious signs of older age, yet there was a softness in her eyes.

They stopped at the foot of the bed he was upon.

"Mr. Potter, I would like you to meet Amelia Bones, she is the head of the department of magical law enforcement, and she will be the witness of what we are about to do, and also fill it all into records," professor Snape explained, introducing the fierce yet calm woman.

Harry stayed silent.

"Hello Mr. Potter, I will indeed be the witness and recorder of all things that we will find out, but I do want you to know that this will be done silently, it will not be leaked to the public, and will stay between us in this room, unless you wish for others to know, but that is entirely up to you," she said, a warm smile spreading on her lips.

But no one could know, that was the rule, Harry was not supposed to let this be known in any way.

He could not flee; professor Snape was known for being accomplished in the field of Dark magic. And Amelia Bones was not head of a department in the ministry for no reason.

"What if I refuse? Have I no say in this?" Harry asked, gripping the sheets of his bed. Hoping, wishing, though he knew it was futile.

They mustn't know, they couldn't, shouldn't.

"I fear that, given how badly you seem to be treated, we have the right to get to the bottom of it all, Mr. Potter. I am given full permission to body bind you and force veritaserum down your throat, if that is what the situation calls for, but your cooperation would be greatly appreciated," Madam Bones answered him, walking up to him.

Professor Snape followed, and soon they were standing by each side of the bed.

Cornered, caught, doomed.

"I have nothing to confess to you, despite my injury, I have none to blame but myself. You will find nothing wrong with my living arrangements, and there are no perpetrators in the school either," Harry stubbornly said.

Professor Snape lifted an eyebrow at that, seemingly reading between his lines.

Madam Bones sighed, her stern expression softening. It made Harry feel ashamed, stupid, as if he was a small child caught lying.

"Then I am very sorry about this Mr. Potter, for we must find out where you got this injury, and where all your scars and earlier injuries come from. The list showing your injuries was disturbingly long and vile, so we have to make sure you are treated right, whether that may be at school or your residence," she said, before casting a body binding spell.

A piece of paper appeared, a feather ready to scrawl on its own.

"We are here to see where Mr. Potter's injuries have happened, especially since he has a long list of earlier injuries, some which look like self-harm. My name is Susan Bones, and I have potions master Severus Tobias Snape with me. We will give Mr. Potter, full name Harry James Potter, a dose of veritaserum to enquire and get the truth, as he is not willing to give any information," Madam Bones said, the quill scrawling quickly to note it all down.

Harry felt like crying, laying there, hopeless and useless.

"Professor Snape will now give Mr. Potter the dose of veritaserum," Madam Bones said, and, before Harry could even think about complaining, professor Snape muttered a spell, and he felt something in his stomach.

"The veritaserum has been administered, and we will now begin questioning Mr. Potter," professor Snape said.

It all went by so fast, his mouth running away with things he would not have said at all.

He couldn't even keep up with who asked him what.

"What is your name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"Where do you live?"

"Privet Drive 4, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"Have your guardians ever harmed you physically and mentally?"

"Yes, I am to be punished every time I have been bad."

"When have you been bad?"

"I am just bad, evil. I have evil magic in me, and it must get out. I am dirty, I need to be cleansed, Uncle Vernon makes sure magic gets out of me by beating me for every piece of magic I perform. Aunt Petunia makes sure I know my place in the household, I am bad, I am to be treated as one who is that."

"How does your Un-uncle know how much magic you perform?"

"I make a cut for every piece of magic I do, or when I let people get too close. Bad people can't have people caring about them, they need to be cleansed."

"What is your place in the household?"

"In the cupboard, it is my room. That is where I shall be. I am to take care of the house, that is the least I can do for bringing such an evil to their home. Whatever they say, goes."

"What does 'taking care of the house' entail?"

"I have to make food, clean the house, take care of the garden, do the laundry and dishes, be ready to do any chore they ask of me."

"Who has harmed you at your residence?"

"Petunia Dursley, Vernon Dursley, Dudley Dursley and Marge Dursley."

"Are they the ones who have given you all your injuries?"

"No, some are from my adventures at school, but they have given me most of them."

"Do you think you have been abused?"

"No, they are cleansing me, I deserve it, they will love me once I am clean."

"What is clean?"

"Being like them, muggle. My magic needs to go away, it is evil and dark."

"Do you believe other magical people evil and dark for having magic?"

"No."

"Do you wish to press charges against the Dursleys?"

"No."

"We have enquired enough, and the veritaserum should be wearing off slowly. It is deemed from this conversation, that Mr. Potter should not be placed at the Dursley's residence as they are unfit guardians," Madam Bones said.

The quill was still scribbling.

"It seems the Dursleys have not only abused Mr. Potter physically, but also mentally scarred him and made him afraid of his own magic. He will be in need of a mind healer and will also need potions to try and heal his body from the physical abuse as well as the mental," Professor Snape added.

Slowly, Harry could feel him gaining his thoughts and bearings back.

The fog that had surrounded his head slowly disappeared, and in its wake, anger appeared.

At himself, at professor Snape and at Madam Bones. He was the reason why this had happened, he had not been careful enough.

But they were the ones forcing the words out of his mouth. They were wrong, he had to go back to the Dursleys, he had to.

He just had to.

…

He had been left alone after his interrogation.

Left alone to simper in anger, fear, guilt and hopelessness.

He could not get back to the Dursleys, Madam Bones was set on filing the rapport, professor Snape freezing him with his stare when he had been about to protest as she collected her papers and was about to go back to the ministry to file them.

It could not be happening.

They knew.

They bloody hell _knew._ They knew, and they could not understand, it was as he had feared. Like his uncle had said; they were so blind, both of them.

How could they not see the evil in him? It was circling around him, like an ever-growing shadow around him.

His back was almost properly healed, except it would leave some big scars. He did not care about scars though, he had plenty of them.

They were reminders to himself, reminders of what he was.

His silent brooding was disturbed by the sound of footsteps coming towards his bed.

He had had the curtains drawn around it. He could not face the world now, it had seemed to shatter, and he did not know how he could continue.

They were slowly drawn apart, just enough for three people to sneak inside, before they closed it behind them.

"Hey Harry, professor Snape said he would give us an update on you, but he never came, so we figured we would come and check on you," Zabini said, a small smile on his lips.

"You better get well again soon, Harry, it's been hell dealing with these two alone," Malfoy whined.

Zabini snorted, while Nott rolled his eyes.

"As if, you should hear Drama Queen over here going all mother hen about how you were doing, whether you were eating or if you were just sleeping," Nott said, making Malfoy huff.

"I am not a Drama Queen, I am just more concerned about small things than the rest of you gits," Malfoy complained, crossing his arms.

Harry almost laughed at their banter, having kind of missed hearing it, but he only let a small smile take over his lips shortly.

"I'm fine," was all Harry said, making all three of them roll their eyes.

"No you're not, Harry, but it's okay. We'll still be here," Zabini said, the two others nodding in agreement.

A warm feeling spread in Harry's chest, but for once, he could not find it in himself to think about cutting himself for it.

He wanted to live in this bliss for just a few moments longer and nothing could make anything ruin it.


End file.
